


infinity, twice over.

by cloudburst



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, I mean, Kind of one sided but not really., Not Really?, Tbh., but yeah this isn't happy but i couldn't not write it., i don't really know., idk how to write heavy angst., it's more of an introspective thing. i guess.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So she recognized—<em>reveled</em> in the prospect that the infinity she'd conjured for herself, for <em>them,</em> was the minute feel of a finger, swiping blood off the rough skin of a woman's face—skin that had once been soft, but darkened with her hardened disposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	infinity, twice over.

**Author's Note:**

> This just kind of struck me.

She recognized the feel of callous—the pad of a work worn thumb tracing a mindless circle across her cheek, like infinity twice over with the promise of impending death. 

Had it been any other time—had she not accepted the card she'd been dealt long ago, there may have been a torrential downpour threatening to spill over and through the cracks of eyes that were like stained orange leaves in late autumn. 

But she had. 

.

It had started as admiration—for the sensation of air flowing throughout her entire being. Then, it devolved into admiration for the man who had trained her to do so—in the way he was, and is, with a steely disposition and eyes like the grated metal that seemed to be the material protruding from his very soul. 

At least, that was what she continued to tell herself—what she believed it, what she _hoped_ for it to be. —would not admit, could not admit it within herself, that the pounding of her heart like a horse's hooves was a direct result of hands the color of paled porcelain brushing across her shoulder—digging into the fabric there—correcting her stance. It was not the product of _his_ ghost of a smile, that barely turned up the corners of thin lips—was not directly correlated to the way dark grey eyes minutely shined with a semblance of pride as he observed her progress; it was not—

Yet she was painfully aware that it had been—that it always would be the cause, for her. 

_Her downfall._

She knew, that if he could not help but to plunge into despair—that she should follow, _would_ follow, but with an iron grip and weight to balance, then would surely pull him from the personal hell he had inflicted. 

She had been told that she was bright—her smile contagious, eyes perpetually shining—water in sunlight with liquid emotion. She wondered then, hair the color of fire falling across her shoulders—why it was that the man she'd pledge her heart to, would give _everything_ to—seemed so morose. She thought, needed to know—could it be the influence of his past, pulling him under like an unsuspecting victim within a riptide, catching his foot deep beneath the surface of murky waters—luring out to sea and drowning him slowly, wordlessly, in frets of times passed. 

Could she be a savior—a bright ship carrying life and burning a small, flickering candle in the darkest of nights, or was she more of an anchor—one whose chain has been attached to his ankle, where no matter how hard it's pulled against—pulls him back under once more. 

_Suffocating, asphyxiating, dying._

.

So she recognized— _reveled_ in the prospect that the infinity she'd conjured for herself, for _them,_ was the minute feel of a finger, swiping blood off the rough skin of a woman's face—skin that had once been soft, but darkened with her hardened disposition. 

She realized the product of impending death, as the feeling of a calloused thumb against her face was no more. 

_But it was enough,_ she thought. 

And when he stood in front of her—inky fringe blending into the palette of dark sky, she could feel the cloudburst—water droplets turning to a stream moving from the cracks in her composure. 

But he had already turned away, and was too far out of reach for an inkling of her noiseless rain to reach him. 

And in the end, she supposed that was a fortunate thing indeed. 

Humanity's Strongest did not require such a burden.

Nor did she.

.

Every time she would utilize her gear, it was brilliant—hair whipping aimlessly throughout the sky, she felt free. 

In turn, she did not _feel—_ did not pay any amount of conscious mind to her thoughts. In a way, she was like a music box of the old stories, where her tune played—yet the music was distorted due to the amiss portions of the woodwork. 

_She was beautiful._

_Even in distortion._

_Strong, throughout the neverending—everchanging trials of life._

.

That was how it had come to this—eyes burning, the tears he'd never admit to having shed—falling downward like a rainstorm. 

No breath passed her lips, yet he was the one who couldn't breathe. 

She was not there to capture the feeling of callous across her cheek for the final time—could not fill her lungs with the air needed to preserve the imagery—the closed eyes possessed by the downpour of Humanity's Strongest. 

The woman with fire in her eyes, and hair the color of flame had accepted long ago that thin lips would never curve at the corners because of her—would never live to see it. 

In a way, she had been right. 

For no smile was present, as he laid her to rest within his memory. 

And she was not there to hear the murmur that became no more than a broken breath, lost in the breeze. 

_'I'll miss you, Petra.'_

**Author's Note:**

> ayy did u c that name drop tho


End file.
